


Vere Resurrexit

by lizardkid



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 17:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16665013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardkid/pseuds/lizardkid
Summary: Rahul Nadeem dies in all the ways that matter; Matt is in no condition to help him. They grow close despite this.





	Vere Resurrexit

The worst of the storm had passed hours ago, but a thin film of water still coated every available surface, reflecting the city’s neon luminescence back on itself. Passers-by moved through the cold streets with a spring in their steps, eager to get home before the skies once again opened to precipitate more than flecking and spitting, and most of them would. Most would be tucked up in their beds before the sun rose, listening to the insomniac city and the tides of rain that lapped against their windows.

But no night was entirely gentle in Hell’s Kitchen.

Tonight, in alleyways, docks and the thresholds of bars, the soft rain-sheen would be cut and diced by splatters of blood melting against glass and steel and concrete; here, in this city where violence manifested itself endlessly, coiling like an infinite snake around its prey, around itself. A metropolitan ouroboros.

On some nights, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen would descend, and the blood spilt would be the blood of those who deserved such a fate, and sometimes it wouldn’t. Always, the Devil’s blood was spilt, too, and later the man behind the mask would think of his blood, splattered across pavements and white shirts, and wonder whether it belonged to someone who deserved such a fate.

Tonight, however, there was no Devil’s blood, no avenging, no descent. In the end, it was the returning storm that washed the blood away. Salt water gushed through the streets as it resumed its weeping, and the blood dissipated, the streets were cleansed, the violence went unanswered.

The Devil was busy – resurrecting.

*

“Where the hell were you last night?”

Karen looked up, surprised, from where she was duct-taping a flimsy piece of cardboard with her surname on it beneath the weathered placard. “Sorry?” she asked, earnestly, if her steady heartbeat was anything to go by, and tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ears.

“When your new business partners invite you out, it’s usually common decency to, y’know, go?”

Realisation crushed Karen’s serene expression and she made a noise of exasperation. “Shit, I knew I was forgetting something.”

Luckily, neither Foggy nor Matt were particularly upset. They’d called it a night earlier than usual, weary from the previous week, and not in the mood to celebrate after so much misery.

“Uh-huh,” Matt intoned, smirking.

“Drinks are on me next time?” Karen’s expression was somewhere between wincing and hopeful, to which Foggy rolled his eyes.

“Sure, sure,” he responded as Karen pocketed the tape and moved to unlock the front door. “What was so important anyway?”

“Last night?” she queried, though she continued without a word from Foggy. “Um, sleep, mostly… Some garbage reality T.V., and a big cup of hot cocoa.” The door swung open and she crossed the threshold, Matt following behind. Foggy made a noncommittal noise and glanced at where Karen had been standing when they arrived.

“Hey, love the sign, by the way!” he called. “Very Dadaist.”

There was a beat, and then he heard Matt mutter to Karen, “He took a History of Art class in college.” It was followed by hushed laughter. Foggy smiled fondly despite himself and closed the door behind him.

*

Rahul Nadeem’s funeral was a sombre affair, one that nobody had any trouble looking miserable at. He was a hero, after all – one who had redeemed himself at the ultimate cost. The sky above was shocking grey, bright and garish and full, the clouds huddling close and holding their breath, the funeral attendees doing the same.

Foggy almost hadn’t come. For some reason he felt ashamed and guilty, and though he looked Seema in the eye when he apologised for her loss, Matt knew it was hard for him to do. The apology felt more personal than the others. Foggy felt as though he had pulled the damn trigger himself.

Karen held it together well enough. She’d experienced enough loss that she could bury it deep, though Matt knew the collective loss this battle had cost them was great, and it was taking its toll on her.

Matt knew his friends well. Better than they knew themselves, sometimes. When he laid a hand on Foggy’s arm and squeezed gently as he returned after speaking to Seema, Foggy was surprised for a moment, surprised that Matt could be even a fraction as perceptive as his senses were. It would probably take them some getting used to after how he’d treated them.

“Seema,” he said quietly as she attempted a bleary smile, one that soon faltered when she realised, he could not see it. There were no words in the world that could quell the loss. Matt struggled for a moment, turning his head toward Sami, who clutched at his mother’s sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he managed finally, weakly. There were no words, though his tongue itched with the weight of unspeakable ones.

Matt heard the shuddering sigh she heaved, felt the tremor in Sami’s hand, smelt the salt tears.

Matt did not see the screaming white clouds, the empty coffin, nor the lifeless look in Sami’s eye. He didn’t need to.

*

Rahul Nadeem was dead.

He was dead to his wife, Seema, and his son, Sami. Dead to his parents, to his siblings, to his nieces and nephews. He was dead to Fisk. He was dead to Dex. He was dead to the FBI and all his former colleagues. He was dead to Brett Mahoney, to Bess Mahoney, to Tammy Hattley, to Foggy Nelson and Karen Page. To Hell’s Kitchen.

Rahul Nadeem was dead to almost everyone. There would be times in the days and months to come when he would feel dead, too; times when he would think that living necessarily entailed more than being alive, that the difference between being physically deceased and functionally deceased was superficial at best.

Luckily for him, there was still one person left in the world to affirm his existence.

**Author's Note:**

> as ever, to the continued chagrin of my professors and the detriment of my grades, I am incapable of planning anything before I write it. so I have absolutely no idea what this will be, I just knew after watching season 3 I had to write SOMETHING and I'm very excited to explore how they could fall in love - or at least, fall in something adjacent to love


End file.
